by Wade Miller
It was the body of a man, his hands bound behind him. The brown business suit he wore was sodden with sand and salt water. He had evidently just been washed ashore or discovered in the shallows. It looked to Biggo as if the man had been shot through the head.
And when he realized that the dead man had, in life, been short and fat he began to notice whose voice made a keening sound that dominated the babble below. The voice kept repeating, "Hermano mio!" over and over. The mourner was the younger Zurico.
Biggo stared at the body harder. The sweaty handle of his suitcase turned cooler in his hand. Instinctively, he held the suitcase which contained the Bible a little closer against his legs, reassuringly. Because he had sighted the queer boutonniere strung through the lapel of the dead man's suit. Long and bedraggled, the peacock feather still gleamed blue and bronze under the bright sun.
Biggo grunted. A crowd was gathering on the embarcadero around him. He heard the clanging of a police truck. He began to sidle backwards gradually, letting people shove eagerly in front of him. When at last he was at the rear of the crowd, he turned casually and ambled away.
CHAPTER THREE
Wednesday, September 13, 4:30 p.m.
Zurico's dead body, as such, didn't bother Biggo. He had seen the dead often when he had known their first names and their whole lives. But the implications of the peacock feather did bother him.
He didn't think hard about it at first. Action came before contemplation-he counted this as one of his virtues-and he heeded a base of operations. He walked two blocks south to the Hotel Comercial and signed the register as B. Venn, Los Angeles, California.
The hotel was tan stucco, clean, with an arcade that shaded the sidewalk in front. His window on the second floor overlooked the roof of the arcade and the main street, Avenida Ruiz. It was just a room, much like a thousand other rooms he had passed through and better than still another thousand.
Biggo flung his suitcase on the bed and unstrapped it and made sure the Bible was safe inside. It was, so he left it there and strapped the suitcase shut again. He didn't unpack. There were several reasons for not doing so but Biggo didn't analyze them. The action indicated was to call Daniel Toevs in Cleveland so he immediately went back downstairs to the lobby. There was no phone in his room.
The lobby was neat and bare with plate glass windows along Avenida Ruiz and a door at the rear open into a paved area. There was no phone booth but the manager let him use the instrument in his private office. Biggo gave the Ensenada operator the number, then went back upstairs. It would take time.
He opened the window and sat in it with his broad back to the street now cooled by long shadows. Biggo grunted at the suitcase on the bed. Then he said to it, "You know, something has gone pretty damn wrong."
A knock on the door and there stood the manager saying that Biggo's call had come through. Biggo said, "Quick service," and followed the manager downstairs. He laughed softly at the idea of Toevs haunting that bar phone in Cleveland for three days, waiting for news. It was past dinner time in Cleveland and he hoped Toevs was still sober. Perhaps he had already drunk up the two hundred dollars; Biggo hated waiting himself as much as anything.
He sat back in the farthest corner of the tiny office with the phone, watching the door, careful that nobody should overhear. The connection was perfect. Toevs sounded as if he were across the street instead of across the continent. "Why didn't you call me sooner?"
"I just got in this afternoon."
"You done anything yet, Biggo? You know what I mean."
"I had a drink."
"Ah, I get you." Toevs sounded cold sober but jumpy. "What'd Zurico have to say?"
"Not much of anything. He's dead. Somebody shot him through the head and stuck a peacock feather in his coat lapel."
Toevs was silent for a long time. At last he said, "Biggo, that boy's papa and I rode two wagonloads of black powder in to Villa."
"Well, that was bloody fine of you," Biggo snapped. "Make up your mind. Are you drunk or sober?"
"I'm all right. I just notice when people die, that's all. You still got the paper, Biggo? We can't afford to lose the paper."
"Don't worry about the paper. Worry about me. What's going on?"
Toevs didn't say anything. He husked his throat and it sounded as if he spit in Cleveland.
Biggo reached out with his foot and kicked the door to the manager's office shut. He growled into the receiver, "Talk up. Can you change the signal with Jaccalone?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I've lost touch with him."
"Well, Dan'l, I can't say I like this peacock signal any longer. It's not much of a secret when Zurico floats ashore with a feather on his coat." He barked, "What's going on?"
"What I was afraid of happening," Toevs said uneasily. "Somehow Silver Magolnick found out. He doesn't want Jaccalone back in the States. He knows he's all through-even dead-if Jaccalone comes back to the States with that confession."
"Which leaves me where?"
"I guess about the same as before. Except that you'll have to watch out for whoever Magolnick has sent down there to stop the deal."
Biggo thought it over carefully. Then he said, "What do you mean-it's about the same? Zurico was shot before I even got to town. How'd Magolnick's man get here so much faster than I did, anyway? And how did he find out about the confession and Zurico and the peacock highsign?"
"Well, that's what I was going to tell you. Some fellows got me drunk and I talked my fool head off. I'm sorry, Biggo. It got back to Magolnick what's going on. I've been hiding out ever since."
"How much got out?"
"Most of the main stuff. Not your name though, Biggo. I haven't said a word about you. The only name Magolnick has got is mine."
Biggo sat down in the manager's chair and teetered back and forth. He scowled at the phone as he leaned over it. He said, "You hyena bastard, if I ever see you again I'll kill you."
"Ah, Biggo…"
"You've been lying to me all along, Toevs. You're lying to me now."
"Swear to God, Biggo, I'm telling-"
"You drank my whiskey and called this a simple job. But this Magolnick knew all about it before I did, didn't he? That's the only way his man could get down here first. No wonder you were willing to give up fifty per cent before you'd come yourself, you stinking coward."
Toevs pleaded desperately. "Biggo, please listen to me. I was a marked man. I didn't dare go down there. But nobody knows about you."
"You weren't man enough to come down here yourself. You gave me a no-good password and hoped I wouldn't get shot quite as quick as you would be. And I'm not going to forget about this."
He slammed down the receiver and barged out of the office and up the stairs. He banged the door to his room behind him and said, "Biggo stupid, you should've known there'd be a catch in it. Isn't there a catch in everything?" He kicked a chair across the room and walked around kicking the other furniture while his anger boiled. He damned everybody and everything he could think of but it never entered his mind to quit a job he had started. Finally, he kicked the chair again and it lit upright where it had stood originally. He laughed at the sight.
Then he was all right again. He bounced down on the edge of the bed and put his head between his fists and tried to do some good thinking. He was caught between the lines of two enemy gangsters and he had no way of knowing which side was which. He could identify Tom Jaccalone from the old newspaper picture but Jaccalone undoubtedly wouldn't come to Ensenada himself. Neither would Magolnick. They would both send armed representatives.
Both agents would be looking for whoever carried the Noon confession. The Jaccalone agent would have money in his hand, the Magolnick agent would have a gun.
Biggo had been sitting still too long so he got up off the bed. "And all Biggo Venn has to do," he announced, "is to pick the right man to deal with." He furrowed his brow, not seeing any way he could know in advance. He saw himself worrying in the mirror
and he told himself pityingly, "You be right the first time, you dumb ape. There'll only be that one first time." The dead Zurico was proof of that. Zurico had evidently overextended himself or had been decoyed by a false peacock signal.
He strode around the little room, occasionally swinging his fists at nothing. "But what's there for you to do?" he asked. At the end of fifteen minutes more he still couldn't work out any positive action. That was what he longed for: action. It was what he lived for, had been born for, that split second when the whole world was action. Something happened then, cleansing and worthwhile, in the height of battle. But even as he revelled in the thought, he remembered the interminable dreary days of waiting for action and then the emptiness of afterwards.
So this fight, if it could be called a fight, was no different from any other he had known.
"It's obvious. What you have to do is nothing at all." He stood in the center of the room, head down, squinting at the suitcase. "The Jaccalone man is not going to give any signals, not when he hears about Zurico wearing a feather. So you wait. Let them look for you. None of them knows Biggo Venn." He had this in his favor. Both Magolnick and Jaccalone were probably more anxious about the Noon confession than he was. They couldn't afford to wait and if they didn't, something interesting might happen which would change the present deadlock.
But how long could he afford to wait? Biggo got out his bankroll and counted it. Taxi fare and drinks with Zurico's drink-pusher had cut his capital down to $191. Still plenty for a short visit but certainly not enough for a siege. He grunted.
Then he winced and swore. He had forgotten about the Jinny girl. Feeling secure that afternoon, he had talked too much. Not too much for the situation as he had understood it then but too much for his necessary strategy now. He had kidded around about the peacock signal. If she remembered anything about him-and Biggo didn't doubt that she was thinking of him this minute-she would remember the peacock salesman, the "feather merchant" joke which had made her laugh that once.
Biggo laughed too, sarcastically. He could see her repeating her joke to every customer until at last it reached the wrong person. He swore at the girl and at Toevs some more but mostly at himself. Then he had his first idea of the day.
He muttered, "The only way to keep her from talking too much is to shut her up." And things suddenly didn't look so bad, having something like that to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
Wednesday, September 13, 8:00 p.m.
Zurico's was going full blast that night. Biggo found business-as-usual a little surprising. He had expected to find the saloon closed with crepe so he would have to search through other bars for the Jinny girl. But the proprietor's memory was being honored with a sort of hilarious wake. Or perhaps it was a celebration of the younger brother becoming boss. Biggo wasn't sure which.
The crowd was having a good time. It was mostly Mexican with only a sprinkling of Americans since this was the middle of the week. The two musicians were playing and some of the American couples were dancing while everybody watched. Jinny was working two unattached men, obviously tourists, at the far end of the bar. She drank soda water with cherries.
Except for the way she looked, she didn't seem to be especially fitted for her job, Biggo noticed. Too shy or too suspicious of the customers or something of the sort. But her luscious look made up for it. She wore a shiny black dress that showed off her white shoulders and part of her back. The dress came to her knees and she had on stockings tonight.
Biggo found a table in a corner, ordered a drink and tried to catch her eye. She knew he was there; he knew she was aware of him and perhaps a little scared of him too. What with a drink in his hand and his eyes on the silken sheen of her legs, Biggo found he wasn't quite so angry with Daniel" Toevs. He could never stay angry very long anyway and he began to see some excuses for the old fellow. And the evening ahead-making sure Jinny forgot about the peacock talk-didn't shape up as such a bad job.
He had another drink and every now and then she'd look down the room at him and then she'd concentrate visibly on the two Americans for a while. Biggo waited. A boy came around with lottery tickets and was sent away and after that somebody tried to interest him in a concert two nights away. The music went on and so did the dancing. One of the tourist women, just drunk enough to think it was funny, asked him to dance. She carried a sombrero she had bought for her little girl at home. Biggo danced with her and then danced with her again. She was thirty and not quite hard and she kept saying that she was having the best time she had ever had in her whole life. Her husband finally took her away.
When Biggo went back to his table Jinny was sitting there. Her lower lip was sulky. "Well," she said.
"Well, well. Where you been?"
"I thought you were coming back to see me."
"Here I am."
"Didn't you wear yourself out, dancing?"
"No," he said. "Would you like to dance, honey?"
"No. Sit down. Why didn't you come over to the bar and rescue me?"
Biggo looked at the two unattached Americans. They were watching Jinny and him. They looked irritated. "You can handle fellows like that with both hands tied behind your back."
"Nobody's going to tie my hands behind my back."
Biggo sat down, gave the bartender a shout and ordered two straight shots. Jinny said she didn't like liquor straight.
"All that soda water isn't good for you. Shortens your sex life."
"I don't care."
"I do," he said. "I might be in town for a long time."
"As I said, nobody's going to tie my hands behind my back."
The whiskey came. Biggo looked at it approvingly, approving himself. He had figured out that the best way to keep Jinny shut up about the peacocks was to confuse her, obscure the peacock motif so she would remember him for other things. But he couldn't confuse her while she stayed sober. He said, "Saha," and tossed the drink off.
The Arabic toast meant nothing to her but she followed suit. Then she made a face. "That stuff is awful!"
"Well, I don't work here. You do."
"I haven't made up my mind yet. Did you know that Zurico was dead?"
"I didn't even know he was sick."
"You ought to be on the radio, feather merchant." Biggo was relieved. Evidently she hadn't seen the body with its feather decoration. At least, she gave no sign. He said, "I am, didn't I tell you? I'm in television."
"I thought you raised birds."
"No, I'm the man who draws the test patterns for all the different stations."
"You're nuts."
"I got into it because I know a fellow high up." Biggo ordered more drinks. "You'd be amazed how high he is up."
Jinny shook her head helplessly. "You're nuts."
"No, I just got a romantic nature."
"What man hasn't?" she said and drank grimly. Zurico's brother was glowering at them from the bar. He motioned with his head at the girl, telling her to circulate among the other customers.
Biggo grunted. "I see. Does he inherit you along with the saloon?"
"He thinks so." She started to get up. "Well, back to work."
"Sit down." He held onto her wrist and liked the feel of it. "I haven't told you my life story yet. It gets better later on. Like me. Mellow."
"Try not to leave scars, will you? And I don't think I'd believe your life story if I read it in the Bible."
"Well, I've got one of those too," Biggo said. He had left it-together with his gun-in his suitcase back at the Hotel Comercial. No reason it shouldn't be safe enough there at this stage of the game. "I'd be glad to show it to you."
"I've seen one, thanks." She wanted loose but he rather enjoyed the quiet struggle between them. "Oh, come on, Biggo-fun's fun but a girl has to eat."
"If that's all that's bothering you, let's go have dinner someplace."
Zurico's brother appeared by her elbow, his face threatening. He rattled his Spanish at her like a snake, "Get back to your job immediately and quit was
ting time with this fool." He didn't think Biggo would understand. "Otherwise, go practice your trade on the street where it belongs."
Jinny said in English, "Don't talk to me like that, you greasy little-"
Zurico's brother slapped her sharply across the mouth. Without rising, Biggo planted his foot in the man's stomach and propelled him against the nearest empty table. Zurico's brother fell to the floor with a clatter of wood. The room came upon a silence all of a sudden, the music squealing away to nothing.
Zurico's brother got up, his face contorted in black lines. Biggo sat still and regarded him quizzically. Zurico's brother hesitated a moment, then sneered around at all the people watching and limped back to the bar. The music started again.
Dismally Jinny said, "Why'd you do that, anyway? That tore it for sure."
"Do you just let him slap you?"
"What's a slap more or less? Now I don't have a job."
"You've still got a dinner date."
"Yes." Her eyes were the same brown as her hair, Biggo noted now. They gazed at him like a whipped dog but adding and subtracting seemed to be going on behind them. "You do owe me something, don't you?"
She went into the back room and got a black purse and they left, accompanied by looks from Zurico's brother. They ate in a clean little cafe around the corner, not too far from the jail. During the meal Biggo told her two more fantastic stories about his occupation and she laughed. Despite her protests, he kept filling her glass with tequila and proposing toasts to everything he could think of. She seemed to have forgotten about peacocks and feather merchants and he congratulated himself on obscuring his trail so well.
He bought more tequila to take back to the hotel. He winced when he thought of what the evening was doing to his bankroll but he counted it money spent in a good cause. Life insurance, he considered it.
When they were finally alone in his room, Jinny didn't sit down. She stood in the center of the room and slowly revolved, looking at the four walls so close. "What am I doing here?" she asked them.
